


Blame it on Manhattan(s)

by Shampain



Category: The Avengers (2012)
Genre: F/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2013-01-23
Updated: 2013-01-23
Packaged: 2017-11-26 13:54:17
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,417
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/651187
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Shampain/pseuds/Shampain
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>When Loki was expelled from Earth, just what did Natasha whisper into Clint's ear that made him smile? In the midst of post-chaos celebrations, a somewhat inebriated Natasha crept off to get a little payback for the kidnapping and brainwashing of her best friend. And what better way than to use the assets she was born with? Cameos from all the Avengers, but this is mainly a Loki vs. Black Widow seduction.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Blame it on Manhattan(s)

Natasha just could not relax. The men did it so well. With the threat of the Chitauri gone, and Loki wrapped up in chains (quite literally), and after having had a few decent meals, spirits were up. They were in trouble after the battle, they knew that, because quite soon there would be a backlash – who cared that they saved everyone from mass destruction when tax dollars would have to be used to clean up the mess? – so right then, it was time to forget, unwind, have a drink, have a laugh.

 

And Natasha couldn’t.  She was on edge, nervous. Clint could tell, but he was the only one. They were all sitting in one of the labs, drinking fancy mixed drinks out of science beakers (Tony’s idea). She sat beside Clint, feeling protective, like he was still liable to be taken. They had dangerous lives, and death was always a possibility for either of them – but his capture, his brainwashing, had frightened her. And Clint pretended not to get it, not to notice the way she tracked him with her eyes, but he made no secret that he knew she was tense, putting his hand to the small of her back when no one else was looking.

 

Even Thor seemed in good spirits, a fact she found oddly chilling. She didn’t really get the whole family thing, but the dynamic must have been messed up for Loki to have become what he had. Vodka did nothing to her, so soon she was drinking Manhattans (also Tony’s idea, because it was politically incorrect, considering), mixed carefully by Tony. “Give this girl the wrong drink and she’ll break your neck!” he said to Bruce, the only one who wasn’t drinking. She wanted the world to go warm and fuzzy, she wanted to forget all the things that had been done and said, not just over the past few days but from her past life.

 

The things Loki had said had made her sick, partially because she knew there was a shred of truth in his words. What good in the world had she done? Well, fighting the Chitauri had done something towards that. Clint was right, she had never been the one to charge into battle. She was a liar, not a warrior, and so had he been until Loki had gotten into his head.

 

She felt a flare of anger. At some point she realized someone’s hand was on her leg; she pushed it away without bothering to look. They were all getting drunk, besides Bruce, even Thor managing to do it with ‘weak Midgardian spirits’. She didn’t feel like talking, so while everyone else chatted she just poured drinks down her throat, leaned her shoulder against Clint’s. He was always warm and sturdy.

 

“Okay, Tas?” his voice was in her ear. They didn’t normally touch, but when she felt the ebb of inebriation, she always felt like she needed to be held.

 

She straightened up. “Yes,” she said, nodded. She gave him a smile he saw right through. It was always hard to lie to another spy. She wanted to get out of there, if only for a moment. The bathroom, to wash her face, clear her head. Only when she was standing did she realize she had taken her shoes off sometime earlier, but didn’t really care enough to put them back on.

 

Clint grasped her wrist as she was about to pad away. “Where are you going?” he asked.

 

She looked down at his hand, and then into his face, weary, sad. Her anger at Loki flared in her chest, and suddenly she knew where she was going. But still she said, “Bathroom.”

 

He nodded. His eyes glinted. _Hard to lie to another spy_. “I’ll save your seat,” he said. “We’re probably getting pizza. Tony wants to buy a fast food chain.”

 

She smiled, and walked out, waving as they all shouted their goodbyes to her. The floor was cold beneath her bare feet – actually, everything was a bit cold, but she didn’t really mind. She was Russian. She was wearing a dress, the one thing she had in headquarters that wasn’t dirty and smelling of blood and smoke, and she had put it on with a shrug because she was sick of her uniform, of her fighting clothes. She wanted no reminder of that; she wanted to feel as she used to be, a woman of espionage and secrets. The skirt fluttered around her bare legs.

 

In the bathroom she filled the sink with cold water and splashed it across her face. In the mirror she looked pale and drawn, determined. She had told herself to come here first, in case she changed her mind, but she hadn’t. She patted her face dry, then, after a moment of consideration, slipped off her panties and left them stuffed in the basket with the dirty towels, and she went in search of Loki.

 

They were keeping him deep underground. For his last ten hours on Earth, before Thor brought him back, he was being kept heavily guarded. She saw him on the monitoring screen, sitting in an iron chair bolted to the floor, staring off into the distance like he was bored of everything. His legs were chained to the chair, his wrists were bound to a chain that only gave him a small amount of reach. And his mouth was gagged, ensuring that he could not speak, could not use his silver tongue to trick and betray. Thor had suggested it; he knew his brother the best.

 

“Out,” she told the guards.

 

“Agent Romanoff-”

 

“I said, out.”

 

They hurried to leave. They were not about to argue with her, but she did not doubt they would alert Director Fury. She didn’t care, though. She knew he would do nothing. She keyed in the code that shut the monitor feed off, and the screens went black. In the hallway outside of his cell, she keyed in the security code, and included the failsafe for the monitor, in case Fury tried to override what she had done, take a peek.

 

The cell’s walls and door were clear, thick, stress-proof glass, so Loki was watching her the entire time as she unlocked the door and came inside. If he hadn’t been able to see her she might have hesitated, but as it was her pride would not let her falter in front of him.

 

“Hello, Loki,” she said.

 

He didn’t say anything, as expected, but his gaze was locked on her as she moved. She stepped closer to him, bound in his chair. Her intuition told her that he wouldn’t hurt her unless there was something to gain by it. Perhaps, if he wanted to disrupt the Avengers and their newfound revelry, he would. Still, she knew her skills. And Loki was as much of a man as the rest of them. She wondered if he knew why she had come – perhaps. She supposed her actions weren’t all that surprising to people cut of the same cloth, like Clint, like Loki.

 

She wished she had a weapon, if only to show him, before remembering that she did. She was the Black Widow, spy, killer, thief, seductress. Her body was a weapon, wasn’t that the whole reason she had come down here? Time to see if she could stick it where his armour thinned. She smoothed her hands over her hips, as if in an afterthought, but Loki’s gaze remained steadily on – no, there it was, the flicker as he glanced down to her hips for a moment.

 

Weak spot.

 

She always knew when someone wanted her. She could pick up on that as easily as figuring out whether someone was happy or sad. Loki was a master manipulator, a god, a villain, but she could see through a part of him very clearly.

 

“I’m not here to hurt you,” she said. “I’ve just come to settle something.”

 

He remained wary. It was unnerving to see him with his mouth covered so – she would have found it inhumane had it been anyone else but the toughest war criminals – but also she was not interested in having a one-sided conversation. She stood in front of him, just out of reach of his chains, and looked down at him. He did nothing but lean back, nonchalant, and gaze up.

 

“White flag, Loki,” she said. “We meet as equals. I’ll take the gag out if you promise to be a good boy.”

 

A moment while he pretended to consider her – they both knew what the answer was – and he bowed his head in submission and agreement. She stepped forward, reached around to the back of his hand, feeling the brush of his ebony hair tickling her wrists, and the gag slipped down to hang around his neck.

 

“Very kind of you,” he said. “And if I may say so, that is a lovely dress.”

 

“I wasn’t interested in talking to myself. If I was I’d go find a mirror.” She leaned forward, feeling powerful, and placed her hands on the arms of his chair. And again, he couldn’t resist it, and she saw him glance down at her very plunging neckline.

 

“You killed Coulson,” she said.

 

He tipped his head to the side, inscrutable. “I kill lots of people,” he said. “So have you. Perhaps in your little world of black and white, the pain you’re feeling at your own loss will wipe away all the agony you’ve caused others, in your long and colourful career.”

 

Natasha didn’t flinch, but she wanted to. He had surprised her with his words the first time; this time that would not happen. So she reached down and slipped her hand over the inside of his thigh. “And you took Barton,” she said.

 

He leaned his head back. “That I did,” he said. His voice was deep, soft. It was a beautiful voice, she had to admit. “I know why you’re down here, Agent.”

 

“I know.” She didn’t doubt him. But she still knew that she would win this game she had started playing, even if he could pull a few good moves on her first. After a moment of deliberation she climbed into his lap, straddling him.

 

He was… incredibly warm. She did notice that. Her legs were warmed where she touched him, and she was more than happy to press her chest to his, unyielding in its leather and metal covering, and reached her hand down between his legs.

 

She cupped him through his trousers and put her mouth to his ear. “And I know you probably haven’t fucked anyone in ages,” she added, hoarsely, almost threateningly.

 

“Are you offering?” he breathed back.

 

“I don’t do anything for free,” she said, pulling away from him. She looked down at him, those bright, pale eyes, like ice, the thin nose, nicked from battle, the elegant chin. He was the type of man she might have given her heart to when she was younger, and watched him trample it, if you ignored the bit about him being from another world. She took his hand and pushed it up beneath her skirt, staring at him expectantly. He said nothing, no reactions seemed to cross his face, but the chain clinked as he slid his hand upward.

 

At the press of his fingers against her, Natasha tensed, but otherwise kept still. She was curious to see how well he would do. She was no stranger to sex, and she had experienced very pleasurable entertainments before with men, but she held no love for it. Sex was a tool, a weapon, it always had been, it had just taken her some years to figure that out.

 

His fingers were long, dexterous. They slid between her folds, carefully, and Natasha allowed herself to ride the sensation, to move her hips just slightly, back and forth. She kept her eyes on him, in fact smoothed one hand around the back of his head to direct his gaze. They had finally allowed Loki to wash up just recently, to cleanse himself of the blood and the sweat, to tend to his multitude of wounds. His hair was soft against her palm.

 

Natasha had been with men who had known what they were doing to a woman’s body before. Not often, but enough times to recognize the awful, the bad, the decent, and the very good. To her surprise, Loki was seemingly heading towards the latter, with the way his fingertips stroked, circled, traced. And that was fine. She had no problems allowing herself to become aroused, because she still never let it get to her head. She could count the number of orgasms she’d had at the hands of another man without breaking into double digits, and in all of those cases she had never forgotten where she’d stashed her knife.

 

Once he was well under way with that, she moved to slide the straps of her dress from her shoulders and, working the dress down, bared her breasts for him. Loki was very tall compared to her, even sitting down, but she was up on her knees, and her hand was in his hair pulling, directing his face down to her chest.

 

She felt his breath on her skin, his face smooth, and then those lying, murderous lips were wrapping around a nipple, his tongue working against the tip. She shivered, rolled her hips a bit against his fingers. His other hand was on her leg, holding her steady.

 

They were silent, because Natasha didn’t need to moan, and apparently Loki didn’t need to hear them. Her body rocked, shifted, she arched her chest forward towards his lips, his tongue, even his teeth. He sucked, he nibbled, his fingers circled her entrance. She hadn’t expected this much from him, had been more than prepared to fake it, but she realized that she might actually enjoy this physically, just a bit.

 

She tugged him away from her chest and looked down. He appeared solemn, though there was a faint flush on his pale cheeks, and his eyes had that deadly focus to them. Staring down at him, she remembered who and what he was. A god, a demigod? He was power. She had met warlords, smugglers, politicians, men of clout, but up until then she had considered them stupid, meek. They did not have any real power to them. Gazing down at Loki, his lips wet, his eyes shining, his face and shoulders, everything about him, sleek and regal, she was made utterly aware of him. And then he was slipping his fingers inside of her, and she came with a surprised jerk.

 

She thrust his face against her chest, not wanting him to see the expression that crossed her face as her body rocked with the orgasm. Which was all well and good, since he just put his mouth on her again. Loki, an attentive lover? Maybe. She’d discovered stranger things.

 

She blinked, shook her head to clear it, and leaned back, her face back to its mask of geniality. He was looking pleased. They all did when they appeared to have conquered the impossible.

 

“Well?” he asked, sliding his fingers from her. She pressed her forehead to his, matching him stare for stare, and after a moment she scraped her nails over his chest and stomach, down back to between his legs, where she could feel his cock, hard, prominent. Hm. Too bad she didn’t really intend to let him fuck her.

 

“Maybe I should just leave you like this,” she remarked, softly, rubbing her palm over him. She felt him shiver, but his gaze didn’t waver. Despite what she said, she began undoing the belts, the buckles, the buttons. Asgardians wore clothes that seemed like torture devices to her, but she had yet to come across a pair of men’s pants that she couldn’t get open.

 

She slipped her hand inside, watching his face, and felt him hard and smooth against her palm before she pulled him out. When she looked down she reiterated her earlier thought. Yes, what a shame.

 

She looked at him, intending to say something snarky, to tease him, torture him, but then Loki pulled a fast one on her, something she didn’t see coming a mile away. He suddenly leaned forward and kissed her.

 

His lips were soft, but insistent. She opened her mouth and his tongue was agile, demanding. Natasha surprised herself by kissing him back, greedily. When was the last time she had been kissed well? She began to stroke him without complaint, her free hand buried in his hair, tangled tight.

 

He was moaning softly against her mouth; she was right, it had probably been a long time since he’d felt a woman’s touch. Good. She was rough, uncompromising, pulling him unerringly towards orgasm. She always did this for men whom she found herself not particularly excited to be with, wanting to get it all over and done with before they decided they wanted to come inside of her instead of in her hand. But for Loki, she did it because he deserved it rough, and because his kissing her was making a strange something flutter in her stomach.

 

She broke the kiss a few times, to breathe, using her grip on his hair to tug him however she wanted, and whenever she did that they both looked down, watching her hand moving over the length of him, slowly slicking him with the wetness beading at the tip. Finally she reached down to fist him with both hands, and without being able to stop him he was kissing her again, not just on her mouth but her throat, her breasts. She twisted her hands expertly and then he was coming, jerking sharply underneath her.

 

She pushed him away so she could watch his face during it, and it was just like every other man, except perhaps a bit more dignified, dark. He gazed at her, leaned forward to kiss her again, but she was pulling away, climbing out of his lap, tucking him away and doing up his myriad of belts again. Her mouth tasted like blood, and she noticed that the cut on his lip had reopened from the kissing.

 

“Well, Agent Romanoff?” he asked. He wasn’t out of breath, seemed unperturbed that they had just had a sexual encounter in near silence. He grinned at her, lots of white teeth. His grin would be charming were it not for his words. “How did I do?”

 

She didn’t reply, just pulled her straps back up, covering her chest once more. She adjusted her dress, her thighs feeling sticky. She’d have to go to the bathroom and fix that before going back to the lab.

 

When she didn’t answer he spoke again, leaning back in his chair as he watched her. The fingers of his one hand were still wet with her. “I thought you had something a bit more intimate in mind,” he said.

 

She walked over to him, bare feet silent on the floor, and smoothed her hands over his cheeks, down to his neck. What beautiful bone structure he had. “Yeah, well,” she said. “It’s probably been decades since you’ve fucked somebody properly. I didn’t want to break your losing streak.”

 

His eyes flashed; he opened his mouth to say something, and with deathly speed Natasha whipped the gag back around his mouth, secured it, and leapt back.

 

“Sorry, what was that?” she asked, flatly, adjusting her dress a bit more. His eyes burned at her, ferociously. They all, always, needed to have the last word. Even Natasha felt that urge herself. “Don’t worry,” she said. “Barton told me everything.” She redid the failsafes, brought the alarm and security systems back up. Once she was done she looked in at him again, and he was still watching her. She blew him a kiss.

 

Five minutes later she was cleaned up, upstairs, sitting down beside Clint, who didn’t say anything, at least not out loud. The Manhattans she drank down filled her throat like glowing coals, and she imagined she could feel some warmth returning to her heart. Five hours of sleep later she was standing with Clint and everyone else, while Loki, quieted, sullen, was lead bound by his brother Thor.

 

He did not look at her. She leaned over to Clint. “Think he’ll miss us?” she whispered. She was rewarded by the ghost of a smile.


End file.
